


Triumviri

by honey_in_the_lion



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 19:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11973927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_in_the_lion/pseuds/honey_in_the_lion
Summary: Characterization shorts as well as a play on the joining of different canons.  May inspire longer fics later.  Focused on relationships between Clarice, Will, and Hannibal.





	1. Dreams

**Clarice**

  
.

_Dreaming_

 

Sometimes, Clarice found herself apprehensive towards falling asleep.

 

Most nights, her dreams were empty - formless in a vague and comfortable way.  She fell in and out of them, remembering not a single thing upon awaking.  Those were the best dreams, in Clarice’s mind.  The most restful ones.

 

But not the one tonight.

 

On her bed Clarice sat with her knees drawn to her chest, her thin pajamas sticking uncomfortably to the chilly sweat of her damp skin.  She breathed in shallow puffs and bunched the sheets of her bed tightly in her fists.  In a distant part of her mind noted that the sheets would have to be ironed later.

 

Her eyes were closed tightly as she rocked back and forth, patiently waiting out the tide of screams that still clung to her mind.

 

The red numbers of the clock told her it was much too early for her to be up.  From the window, Clarice could see that it was still dark outside.  She sat there in the darkness with her back against the pillows.

 

It was soothing, the dark.  It grounded Clarice as she waited patiently, for the silence of the lambs.


	2. Fish Market (Clarice)

**Clarice and Will**

.

 

One could call their first meeting inadvertent.

 

The sun beat down in the sweltering baking way of a harbor fish market down in the south, where the earth was ever so much closer to the sun. Rubbing the sweat off her brow from under the brim of her cap, Clarice observed the mill of the crowd around her. A mingle of scents invaded her nose with every passing person; the wet, bloody odor of fish, accompanied by crisp scents of street food, and accented with the faint fragrance of flowers and farmer's greens.

 

Clarice stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her denim pants as she waited for Ardelia to finish her selection from the nearby stand. Only two weeks passed since the two of them bid farewell to their trainee blues. This trip to the southern tip of Florida was their graduation present.

 

It was the weekend, filling the normally quiet square with a crowd of people. Shifting her gaze around, Clarice observed the milling from under the edge of the booth. The habit, second nature now, resulted from harsh and constant practice at Quantico and subsequent assignments. Even on vacation, Clarice found herself incapable of relaxing.

 

It, Clarice told to herself, had nothing to do with the end of the Buffalo Bill case.

 

A man, a bit scruffy and dark, slipped into her field of vision like a fish cutting through a stream. Although slight, his presence disturbed the smooth flow of people. Odd, considering he fit in perfectly with the rest of the vendors. Clarice, attuned to spotting even the smallest mismatch, found herself unable to determine exactly what set her off.

 

The man, slowly setting up his stand, dodged around the constantly circling dogs as he arranged the fish. Amused, Clarice leaned back and nudged Ardelia, muttered something quiet in the din of the market. Ardelia, busy haggling the stout woman in charge of the stand, nodded with little awareness. In a blink, Clarice already mixed into the crowd, cutting through the chaos with the ease of a cat.

 

“Need help?”

 

Though the buzz of locals and tourists, the man heard Clarice's soft voice. He glanced up in a surprise, his long eyelashes fluttering a little as he squinted up at the glaring sun. Clarice leaned over him and the dogs, her arms on her hips. Their eyes met briefly; eyes, in Clarice's opinion, more piercing than she had ever encountered.

 

For a moment, Clarice Starling saw herself reflected from them - yet also not. Several decades passed in a blink of an eye as she gave the man a courteous smile, aiding him in pulling the dogs away long enough for him to stand.

 

“Thank you.” His voice was rough. He nodded to her with courtesy of the same level as her smile and began to unpack his catch onto the already prepared bed of ice. Clarice stroked the two dogs and scratched behind their ears, observing the man's smooth motions as he unloaded the fish with practice.

 

There was a beautiful fluidity and skill in his movements. Clarice found herself imagining him on a fishing boat with his broad arms and muscles rising as he cast the ropes, his piercing eyes catching flecks of light in the reflective surface of the shimmering water. She wondered, what it would be like to see him smile, laugh. It was probably sweet and warm, the kind that thumped the earth like a beating heart.

 

 _Likely  built his own boat from scratch_, Clarice mused.

 

Here, Clarice could examine the man in full; see his rough beard and thick curly hair that barely masked the grotesque scars that carved up a handsome mug; see the things not privy to her that lay bare in the center of her mind.

 

The long line of boats; the poverty that drove his family up and down the great rivers and lakes of America; the overwhelming sensation and cruelties of the world that threatened to flood that little haphazard raft that was this man's life - all laid uncomfortably bare in the way a sudden memory unfurled. A life of memories that he tried to drown in his own way in the sour stench of alcohol that permeated his whole being.

 

The dogs seemed to like her enough, wagging their tails as they bumped her hand with their cool noses. She returned their friendly gestures with more scratches and immersed herself in her surroundings, no longer willing to allow her mind to invade the poor man's past

 

Yet, from the dogs Clarice could envision more of this man's life. It was obvious that these two were strays. One of the dogs had a terrible limp, from an old injury that healed badly. The other a missing eye. Despite it all, she could tell how healthy and well cared for they were - their bodies sleek and plump.

 

Drink hadn't consumed this man completely.

 

Still deeply focused in thought, Clarice didn't realize that the man had finished until one of the dogs turned around and yipped, its tail beating like a silken whip in her face. She followed the dog until her eyes met piercing blue. The man quickly looked away, offering his hand to her, the dogs once again returning to circling around for attention.

 

His hands were strong, rough like the rest of him, and carried a sun-baked warmth that reminded her of her father. Standing, she mildly miffed to learn that she was just a breath shorter than him, something that surprised her. Like her father, she had expected him to be much taller.

 

A grimace of a smile found the man's lips. “Thanks for keeping them company.”

 

“They're good boys,” she replied.  She meant it. “You sell here often?”

 

He awkwardly nodded, perhaps unprepared for Clarice's friendliness. He long became immune to people trying their best not to look at him.

 

The two conversed for another moment, before Ardelia called for Clarice. Clarice learned that this man, too, was from the south. Before she could turn away, the man tapped her on the shoulder - gently, as if afraid.

 

“Here.” He held out a brown paper bag. From her view over the edge, she peeked at the slow pedaling appendages of blue crab. They swished like sea kelp on the ocean floor. “A thanks.”

 

Although Clarice attempted to refuse, the man shook his head. By then, Ardelia's call betrayed a bit of her impatient. Not wanting to be rude, Clarice took the bag from his hands. 

 

Their fingers touched, just for a moment.

 

Running back to Ardelia after a somewhat flustered goodbye, Clarice found that the warm tingling feeling in her fingers lasted long after they started driving back to their hotel.

 

Clarice would later learn that the man she met was Will Graham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's Will POV of this. I'll post it once I finish and clean it up more.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a warmup.


End file.
